Monarch Beach (18 page)

“Here I am again telling you the terrors of divorce. There are plusses. Like meeting you.” He turned my face to him and gently kissed me on the lips. I kissed him back. We both tasted like kiwi and pomegranate.

“I think I better get Max home,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll grab my keys. But our next date is going to be adults only. No kids of any age. Deal?”

“Deal.” I waited on the deck while Edward went into the house. I was still shaken by the iPhone incident, but I felt a new sensation creep over me: I liked Edward and he liked me.

Chapter Six

“I want to sleep with him,” I said to Stephanie on the phone the next day.

“Wow, Sleeping Beauty is waking up. I though all men besides Andre had cooties,” Stephanie replied.

“I find Edward really sexy.” I sat in a lounge chair by the pool. Max was splashing around with an inflatable palm tree, and I had a stack of magazines and newspapers I hadn’t read.

“I knew you’d get your mojo back,” Stephanie replied.

“Be serious! Is it too early to sleep with him? What if Max finds out?”

“Sorry, Zoe and I just finished a Disney movie marathon. You might be living in the lap of luxury with a Kids’ Club and five pools at your fingertips, but I have a sandbox and one sixty-inch TV with which to entertain my children.”

“Don’t forget the faithful husband, the gorgeous house, and the devoted housekeeper. I’ll trade with you any day,” I said.

“Not if you saw my house. Glenn is out of town and Gisella is visiting her mother in Lisbon. Zoe and Graham have turned the living room into an Indian fort.”

The thrill of Edward started to wane. I squeezed my eyes shut and remembered the long afternoons spent in Stephanie’s sandbox, when my only decision was chicken nuggets or fish sticks for dinner.

“Have you seen Andre around?” I asked.

“Now you’re switching gears. Let’s focus on Edward. While I disapprove of his age, at least he’s not married. I’m beginning to long-distance like him.”

I hadn’t told Stephanie about the iPhone mix-up and the texts from “Legsuptohere.” I didn’t want to sound like a hyper-paranoid teenager.

“We had a great time last night,” I said. “He has this quiet strength, and he’s funny. About everything: his kids, his divorce, his restaurant.”

“I can’t believe you sit around talking about divorce and restaurants. I would think those are two subjects to be avoided at all costs. Maybe you should sleep with him, so you both shut up.”

“You’re not getting it, Stephanie,” I complained.

“Sorry, I know it’s not all champagne and roses, even with a new guy. But try to keep it romantic. You don’t want to start doing his laundry and buying his shaving cream. You’ve been there.”

“I’m not doing his laundry! We’ve been on two and a half dates. He wants to see me tonight after the restaurant closes. I am only asking when is the appropriate time to sleep with him.” I couldn’t help laughing.

“Well, that’s obvious. After he has brought you flowers, taken you out for several dinners, and given you one slightly significant piece of jewelry.”

“Jewelry? Just for sex?” I shook my head.

“How do you think I got Glenn?” Stephanie replied. “I have to go, Zoe is trying to make my curtains into a teepee. Don’t do anything hasty. Make him wait.”

*   *   *

I had a similar conversation in the evening with my mother. We sat on the deck, drinking our six p.m. cocktails. Every night room service brought us something new to try along with the old standbys of martinis and vodka gimlets. Tonight I was sipping a Slippery Slope: rum, tequila, orange juice, and a squeeze of lemon.

“Any plans for the evening?” my mother asked. She had grilled me about my date when Max and I arrived home. After telling her about Edward’s spectacular view, and how bright and attractive his kids were, she seemed to be softening. She had even commented that she noticed he wore a Rolex Oyster like my father—a definite sign of good taste.

“Edward has to work, but he wants to take me out for a drink after the restaurant closes.”

“Isn’t that late?” she asked. My mother had changed in the three weeks we had been at the St. Regis. Her cheeks were almost pink, and her mouth and fingernails were no longer nicotine yellow. She carried herself with more confidence, which meant she treated me like a schoolgirl.

“Mom, I can stay out all night if I want.”

“You most certainly cannot. You’ve only known Edward for a week. And what would Max say if he woke up and you weren’t in your own bed. Don’t forget your first priority is to be Max’s mother.” She put down her martini. My mother never sampled the new cocktails. She thought all the alliterated names were gauche.

“I wasn’t planning on staying out all night,” I mumbled, though I had been considering it. It wasn’t about erasing Andre anymore. It was about feeling Edward on top of me, having him kiss my nose, stroke my hair. For some reason, I had been thinking about going to bed with him all day, and I had to stop. As Stephanie said, I had to make him wait.

“I like Edward, but take it slow. You’re not even divorced yet. And you’re young, beautiful, and wealthy.”

“Edward isn’t a gold digger!” I snapped.

“From the looks of him he isn’t, but you have to be careful.” My mother cut a sliver of brie and put it on a water cracker. I noticed she was eating things other than chocolate without being prompted.

“You mean I have to make sure his Rolex isn’t a fake?”

“Just get to know him.” She took a careful bite and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“You and Stephanie are such killjoys,” I grumbled.

“You’ve got all summer. You’ve got the rest of your life. You just shook off one wolf in sheep’s clothing; you don’t want to be landed with another.”

“Edward is not a wolf.” I switched from the Slippery Slope to a diet 7UP. Maybe it was the alcohol that was making me horny.

I gazed down at the Grand Lawn where another party was in full swing. I watched people mingle like figures in a Seurat painting. A band was starting up, and men pulled women onto the dance floor under bright, tinted lights. I realized I didn’t envy those people as I had a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t want to dance and flirt and drink endless champagne. But I did want to be with Edward. I wanted to see his crinkly smile. I wanted to sit close to him and feel his arm around me.

“I’ll meet him for one drink, in the lobby. I’ll warn him on the stroke of midnight I turn into a pumpkin,” I said.

“Don’t get smart. I’m just trying to protect you.” My mother smiled.

“Between you and Stephanie, I feel like Rapunzel. But honestly, Mom, I’m making progress. I haven’t thought about Andre, I mean really thought about Andre in a while.” I got up and went inside to unglue Max from the television.

“I was right about bringing you here”—my mother had to have the last word—“and I’m right about this, too. Please take it slow.”

*   *   *

We ate room service dinner together. It was lovely, sitting at the polished table in the suite’s dining room with Max and my mother. Max had another great day of surfing and stood on his chair to illustrate “hanging five.” He ate spaghetti and meatballs, green beans, and a wedge of chocolate cake, and then plopped himself on the couch to read a surfing magazine. He hadn’t mentioned Andre in a couple of days. It seemed all he wanted to do was surf and eat, and lie in front of the TV and play Wii Surf before bed.

My mother ate a chocolate-pistachio mousse and disappeared into her bedroom. I could hear Ryan Seacrest’s voice introducing “America’s next American Idol” through the closed door. I gave Max a “thirty minutes before bed” warning, and went into my room to flip through
Vogue
.

I loved the stack of magazines the housekeepers put on my bedside table each day:
Vogue, Bazaar, Elle, W
. I admired new fashions from Zac Posen, Stella McCartney, Ella Moss; even Burberry had some wild styles inspired by Kate Moss.
W
was my favorite because it had page after page of clothes you would never see on the street. I found myself tearing out pages of runway shows like I did when I was at prep school, and would paste them on my dresser. I then critiqued the strengths and flaws of each designer, thinking what I would add—a thicker belt, a shorter skirt—to enhance the outfit. I smiled because it had been so long since I thought about anything besides what Andre wanted and what Max needed.

The phone buzzed and I was so enraptured by a fashion spread of Miu Miu caftans, I answered without checking the caller ID.

“Amanda, where have you been? You haven’t returned my calls. I am frantic with missing you and Max.” It was Andre.

“Just busy. Max has been surfing all day.” I could feel my stomach tighten. I remembered all the nights I had called the restaurant to see when Andre was coming home and his phone was off. I always thought he was busy taking care of lingering clients, I didn’t realize he was servicing the staff. I blinked away the image of Andre and Ursula wrapped around each other like two pieces of licorice.

“
Ma petite cherie.
This madness has gone on long enough. When are you coming home?”

“I’m not coming ‘home,’ Andre. I filed for divorce. We will be back to Ross at the end of the summer,” I said, sitting up straight in my bed.

“There are no other women, only you. I want you in our bed, I want to cover you with roses and kisses,” Andre said.

“You should have thought of that when you were fucking Ursula.”

“Such unladylike language from my princess. I told you it is over, all I want is you.”

“Andre, you were cheating for ten years. Why on earth should I believe you?” I tore pages out of the magazine, crumpled them up, and threw them on the floor.

“We can buy the land in Napa and build a summer house. We’ll buy a bigger house in Ross if you want. I will do anything to have my
petite
family back.”

I pictured Andre sitting on the edge of our bed the way he used to when he came home from the restaurant. He always wore a white shirt, open to the third button, black slacks, and dress shoes without socks. He would tell me about the night and massage my feet, and I found it so sexy I wanted him to undress and make love to me right then. I always wanted him. We had some crazy chemistry that made me want to have sex every time I saw him.

“It’s gone, Andre. We’re over.” I closed my eyes and conjured up images of Andre and Ursula, Andre and Yvette, Andre and all the other women. I wanted to feel the pain now, get it out of my system, so I could be done with it.

“You are just being emotional, my sweet. You are
mon couer
. And I need to see Max, I need to speak to my son.”

“He’s asleep,” I said. I didn’t want to go into the living room with tears in my eyes. Andre could live without speaking to Max.

“You cannot imagine how much I miss Max.”

“I’ll tell him to call you tomorrow.”

“I am going to come down and see you both. I will make my
petite
princess see my love.”

“I’ve seen your love, Andre. But you can visit Max whenever you like. I really have to go. I’ll have Max call you tomorrow.”

I flipped shut my phone. The room felt horribly silent. I got up and searched my closet for the perfect thing to wear for my drink with Edward. But my body started trembling, first my hands, then my legs, and the tears came in giant hiccups. I climbed onto the bed and let myself cry. I wished I could just forget Andre. Nothing, not even childbirth, was as painful as a broken heart.

*   *   *

I waited for Edward at the lobby bar. I had finally decided on jeans, and a white T-shirt over my Victoria Secret’s Miraculous Bra. I hadn’t worn tight jeans in years, but my butt was flat thanks to my Beach Boot Camp regime. I wore just a little makeup: bronzer on my cheeks and pale pink lip gloss. I felt very Southern California.

Edward came up behind me and put his hands over my eyes.

“It’s your old and faithful admirer,” he said.

“Not old but hopefully faithful,” I joked.

“You are looking extra beautiful and about as old as my daughter.” Edward pulled up the stool beside me.

“Thank you. All the women in Southern California look like they’re nineteen. It must be something in the water.”

“Or the Botox. But you’re naturally gorgeous. I’ve been looking forward to this all night.” Edward ordered two Bacardi and Cokes and a tray of sliders.

“I’m always starving when I finish work,” he said.

“It must be very different from a corporate law office.”

“Different and not different. The key is to make the client feel like he or she is the most important person in the world, no matter what kind of business you are in.” Edward wolfed down a handful of macadamia nuts.

“So how was life at the St. Regis today?” He brushed the hair away from my face and kissed me quickly on the cheek.

“Max surfed all day. I think he’s going to wake up one morning with a surfboard glued to his feet. He’s totally addicted.”

“Southern California hazard. Edward had flippers for hands by the time he was thirteen. There is something about conquering the waves that is Narnia for boys. One day I’ll show Max the surfboard I rode when I was a kid. It was about twenty feet long and weighed thirty pounds.”

“He is really happy,” I conceded.

“And how did you spend your day?” He took a bite of a slider and kept his other hand on my knee.

“Beach, pool, gym. I had an unpleasant conversation with Andre this evening.”

“Those will go on for the next few years. The only good thing about my kids being at college is I don’t have to talk to Julie. We’re down to who they will spend Christmas and Thanksgiving with.”

“He wanted to know when Max and I were coming home. He’s such a hypocrite.” I knew Stephanie would shoot me for talking about Andre. But I didn’t want to keep anything from Edward.

“A friend at the law firm gave me the best advice. Tell him: ‘I hope the fucking you were getting was worth the fucking you will be getting.’ Pardon my language.”

“I like that. I find I’ve actually made ‘fuck’ one of my favorite words. It says everything you need to say.” The Bacardi was strong and I was a little light-headed. Edward’s hand on my knee made me feel sexy and dangerous.